


When Life Gives You Lemon Pie

by myrtlebroadbelt



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hobbits, Mischief, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlebroadbelt/pseuds/myrtlebroadbelt
Summary: Rosa, polite as ever, had written to ask permission from the hostess for Belladonna to accompany her, but Lavender nonetheless had raised her eyebrows in surprise when they were introduced. “A Took!” she had said, grabbing her by the shoulders and mashing their cheeks together in greeting. She had then glanced at Belladonna’s emerald-green dress. “Why, I never would have guessed.”





	When Life Gives You Lemon Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by (spoiler alert) [this post](http://myrtlebroadbelt.tumblr.com/post/159838088722/yesterdaysprint-the-ladies-home-journal-may).

No one at Lavender Boffin’s tea party had yet proposed eating the lemon pie which sat at the center of the table. In fact, no one had spoken of it at all, aside from oohing and aahing over its beauty when it made its grand entrance an hour before. The silent agreement seemed to be that the hostess should decide when to make the first cut, and so they all sat obediently picking sandwich crumbs off their dishes and staring into the cold tea at the bottom of their cups.

Belladonna found it all very ridiculous.

She wouldn’t have been there in the first place, had poor Rosa not begged her to come. Belladonna had grown very fond of the girl since she and her brother had announced their engagement, dubious as she was about the whole matrimonial business. Rosa was younger than she was, after all, and goodness knows the last thing Belladonna wanted at the moment was a husband.

“Oh, Belladonna,” Rosa had pleaded, “you must come and keep me company.”

She had proceeded to describe — in sugar-coated terms, as Rosa was sweet — the party’s notorious hostess, who was the sister of her aunt-by-marriage. Lavender had a penchant for holding her guests hostage for hours on end, chattering on so endlessly with the latest gossip that she left no opening for anyone to so much as excuse themselves to the bathroom.

“Why don’t they just leave?” Belladonna had wondered.

Rosa had looked at her with horror. “Without asking?” she said incredulously, and Belladonna remembered she was a Baggins.

“And I suppose there’s no getting out of it?”

Rosa shook her head. “Mother is quite adamant about it. She said I was lucky to receive an invitation at all, considering I’ve chosen to marry a Took — oh, no offense meant by it, my dear Belladonna, but you know — and she’d like to salvage my reputation, she said.”

“So you’ve decided to bring another Took as your guest?” Belladonna had said with a laugh.

“Oh, but you’ve been such a good friend to me, Belladonna, and I really think you’ll make a wonderful impression, and it could make such a difference in their opinion of us, and —”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Belladonna had interrupted. “But there had better be plenty of sweets to eat, or I shall fall asleep and drown in my teacup.”

Now, as she looked upon the mountain range of whipped cream piled high atop the pie, she was in danger of doing exactly that. Lavender, a dark-haired hobbit of middle age with a pert little nose and a dress to match her name, was in the midst of recounting a conversation she had overheard in the market while shopping for this very party.

“I was squeezing the lemons for ripeness — you just never know what they’re trying to sell you down there, you know.”

“Speaking of lemons —” Belladonna attempted, but Lavender rolled right over her like a carriage.

“And who do I see but Ivy Proudfoot and her daughter — oh, I can never remember her name, something dreadful like Hyacinth probably. They were over by the tomatoes — choosing some very overripe ones, I might add — and you’ll never guess what I heard them saying.”

Lavender was right. Belladonna didn’t guess, nor did she listen to the rest of the story. Instead, she found herself lost in white peaks of cream, imagining the custard bright as sunshine which hid beneath it. She imagined herself dipping a surreptitious finger into it, and covering a laugh when Lavender, several hours and countless complaints about inadequate fruit later, discovered the dent.

Rosa, polite as ever, had written to ask permission from the hostess for Belladonna to accompany her, but Lavender nonetheless had raised her eyebrows in surprise when they were introduced. “A Took!” she had said, grabbing her by the shoulders and mashing their cheeks together in greeting. She had then glanced at Belladonna’s emerald-green dress. “Why, I never would have guessed.”

And she had left it at that, leaving Belladonna to suss out the meaning.

She thought of this now as she gazed beyond the sugar bowls and painted teapots to where the pie rose on its cake stand like a queen on a dais. Suddenly, her fantasy transformed into the image of her entire hand, all five fingers spread as wide as they would go, raised menacingly over the table.

When she was very young, Belladonna would play in the garden after summer rains, kneeling beside the hydrangea bushes and smacking mud puddles with flattened palms. Over and over again she would bring her hand down, trying to make the mud fly higher and higher with each slap, until her dress was ruined and her arm covered up to the elbow.

She now pictured a similar scene, with the addition of a scandalized hostess and a table full of pastel-drenched ladies. She imagined it second by second — the horror on Lavender’s face, the gasps of her fellow guests, the frothy white expanse that waited, tantalizing, beneath her palm. She wondered just how far it would splash, the ratio of cream to custard, whether she could get it to touch the rounded ceiling if she hit it hard enough, how deep she would sink on impact. In her mind's eye, her hand came down with the force of a dwarven hammer. 

_Splat!_

The sensation of cool custard beneath her fingernails brought her back to reality, where the white noise of Lavender’s prattling had been replaced by an eerie silence. An old aunt on her mother's side had once told her that she had an overactive imagination. As she stared at her hand sunken to the wrist in pie filling, she thought perhaps that was an understatement. 

With a gulp, Belladonna lifted her eyes and scanned the faces around her. Some sat with teacups frozen between saucer and lips, while others looked down in shock at the white and yellow blobs staining their bodices. Beside her, Rosa stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed across the table. Belladonna reluctantly followed her gaze.

There sat Lavender Boffin, stoic as a statue as she blinked cream and custard out of her eyes. A particularly heavy globule dangled precariously from her chin, until it fell with a quiet splash into her tea. A dozen possible responses flooded Belladonna’s mind in this moment, from claiming to have seen a fly land on the pie to pointing out that at least Lavender’s tea was now topped up with cream and sugar. Eventually, she decided to take advantage of the rare silence.

“May I be excused?”

Belladonna didn’t mind dropping her napkin and fleeing Lavender’s primal scream — it seemed to be her lot in life, and she had wanted to leave anyway. But she felt terribly that Rosa was ordered out with her. She had trusted her to make a good impression, and Belladonna had mucked it up like only a Took could. 

Still, if Rosa truly wished to join the family, she had best get used to being screamed out of a few tea parties every now and then. Perhaps it was best for her to get a taste of it now, while she still had a chance to run in the opposite direction. She certainly wouldn't blame the poor girl. There were times when the Tooks were too much even for Belladonna.

As she and Rosa pushed through Lavender’s front gate, she was suddenly reminded of the dessert which currently covered her entire hand. She thought about simply stuffing it into her pocket, sacrificing her dress to spare her friend further embarrassment. But the stickiness between her fingers was becoming quite uncomfortable, and the smell of lemon and sugar was making her mouth water.

And so, as they walked the path in silence, Belladonna carefully brought her forefinger to her lips and … oh, curse Lavender, it was delicious. She also noted, with pride, that a piece of shortcrust had made it under her fingernail. Her puddle-slapping days had been good practice, it seemed.

Belladonna polished off two more fingers before she noticed that Rosa was turned away from her, covering her face and shaking. Feeling like an utter dolt, she opened her mouth to apologize — making sure to swallow first.

However, before she could utter a single remorseful word, Rosa threw back her head and let out not a sob, as Belladonna expected, but a shrieking laugh which she imagined — indeed, hoped — could be heard all the way in Lavender Boffin’s parlor. The laugh quickly turned into a quiet wheeze, as Rosa paused on the path and doubled over with her hand on her belly, joyful tears squeezing between her lashes like juice from a lemon.

 _Yes_ , Belladonna thought as she laughed along with her, _she’ll fit in just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering, yes, Lavender Boffin (née Grubb) is Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' grandmother.
> 
> And yes, I did include a Mrs. Doubtfire reference.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm [on tumblr](http://myrtlebroadbelt.tumblr.com/).


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